


With the Rest of the Miscreants

by Redrikki



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Crimes & Criminals, Culture Shock, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Mentor/Protégé, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 17:38:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7324405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redrikki/pseuds/Redrikki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boy meets galaxy and learns to live in it. A lost baby Jedi adapts in four 'easy' steps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Honeymoon

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Hurt/Comfort Bingo](http://hc-bingo.livejournal.com) prompt 'culture shock.'
> 
> Culture shock generally has four phases.
> 
> 1\. Honeymoon  
> 2\. Negotiation  
> 3\. Adjustment  
> 4\. Adaption

The noodles turned brown, then black, then caught on fire. “Poodoo, poodoo, poodoo,” Caleb chanted as he frantically tried to halt the cooking cycle. He managed to turn it off but could’t decide what to do next. Fire couldn’t burn without oxygen, so, if he left it in the cooker, it should just burn itself out. Unless the cooker wasn’t actually a vacuum, in which case it wouldn’t. The galley was starting to fill with smoke. He needed more information. He needed to—-

“By the three moons, kid,” shouted Kasmir, as he stormed into the galley. “Are you trying to set my ship on fire?” He strode confidently to the cooker and yanked out Caleb’s flaming supper. Grimacing from the heat, he carried the bowl to the sink and doused it. “I can’t believe you forgot to add the water.”

“I—I,” Caleb started to run his hand through he hair before stoping himself. Kasmir still caught the movement though, if his smirk was anything to go by. Caleb squared his shoulders and started again. “I didn’t know I was supposed to.”

Kasmir just sighed as he dumped the scorched, soggy mess into the disposal unit. “Of course the Jedi didn’t bother to teach you anything as useful as cooking,” he grumbled. 

They hadn’t. They hadn’t needed to. At the Temple, their simple, yet healthful, meals were all prepared by kitchen droids. In the army, they had eaten the standard tasteless protein and vitamin paste supplemented by whatever fresh fruits and vegetables their scrounger could find. Big-Mouth had specialized in finding meilooruns. Caleb didn’t think he’d ever be able to eat one again without thinking of his friend…without thinking of the way he’d looked when Caleb killed him. 

“Kid. Kid!” The hand on his shoulder pulled him back into the galley. Kasmir gave him a little shake for good measure. “Go get me the big bowl and two more noodle packets.”

Bowl and noodles in hand, Kasmir opened the packets with a flourish. “Now watch,” he commanded, “and learn.” So Caleb watched as the Kalleran tossed noodles, chopped vegetables, spices, and strips of some pungent-smelling dried meat into the bowl. Taking it over to the sink, he added in the water. “Two cups per packet,” he said, “plus a little extra to soften things up.” Then he popped it into the cooker, and started the cycle. 

“What do you think?” Kasmir asked as they dug in. 

The flavor profile was more suited to a Kalleran's tastebuds than a human’s, but it was miles better than army rations. Not to mention a hyperspace jump away from the literal garbage Caleb had been eating just a few weeks ago. “It’s good.”

Kasmir pushed away his empty bowl and got up from his seat at the counter. “I cooked, so you clean.” He paused on his way out the door to the galley. “Try not to set anything else on fire,” he joked with a smirk.

Caleb smiled ruefully as he gathered up the bowls and loaded them into the sonic dishwasher. He was pretty sure he knew what he was doing this time. He pressed the activation button and hoped for the best.


	2. Negotiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unsurprisingly, Caleb has a few questions.

The Quarren fence made a show of examining their stolen goods. He studied each piece up close with a magnifier, then stood back to take in the whole picture. He hummed and stroked his facial tentacles. Finally, after much deliberation, he nodded and said, “I can give you 10 thousand for the lot.”

“What?” blurted Caleb. “They sell for 20 each!” True, they hadn’t paid for them, but he knew by now that thieving cost a lot in terms of time, risk, and fuel. What were the fence’s expenses? “Do you need to transport them off world or file the serial numbers or something?” 

The fence’s normally languid facial tentacles went ridged with shock and anger. “What is this?” he demanded, rounding on Kasmir. “I thought I was dealing with you, not your brat.”

“You are,” Kasmir answered through gritted teeth. “Allow me a moment to confer with my…colleague.” The Kalleran seized Caleb’s ear, forcing the boy to run on tiptoes to keep up as he was pulled halfway across the warehouse. 

Kasmir gave Caleb’s ear one last twist before letting go. “What’s the matter with you?” He punctuated the question with a smack.

“What’s the matter with me?!” Caleb shouted indignantly, his voice cracking on the last word. He glared up at his partner as he rubbed the feeling back into his tortured and abused ear. “I’m not the one who just—”

“No,” Kasmir snarled. “You’re just the one who’s costing us this deal with your stupid questions.” He jabbed an accusing finger into Caleb’s chest.

Was he? Caleb deflated, his shoulders sagging as he dropped his gaze to the floor. He never tried to make trouble, but his questions usually seemed to have that effect. “I just wanted to understand,” he said quietly. “How am I supposed to learn if I don’t ask questions?” He met Kasmir’s eyes and willed him to understand. 

The Kalleran just groaned and pinched the ridge between his eyes. “Learn by watching,” he said, waving a frustrated hand. “Learn by doing.”

But that wasn’t good enough. Sure, it would teach him the how, but not the why. Knowledge, yet ignorance. It wasn’t enough. 

“You can’t tell me your old master just let you run your mouth off.”

Caleb squared his shoulders and proudly raised his chin. “She _loved_ my inquiring mind.” It was why she’d chosen him as her Padawan. Listening to him pepper Grey and his teachers with questions had brought a smile to her face when little else during the war could. 

“Really?” Kasmir raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Because I remember her shutting you down pretty hard back at Gamut Key’s palace.”

The rebuke hit Caleb harder than a slap. His breath left him with a gasp and his eyes started to burn. He clenched his jaw and took a deep breath. He wasn’t going to cry at the reminder of the first time he’d truly disappointed his master. Not when she’d be disappointed by everything about him now. 

Kasmir’s annoyance seemed to dissolve in the face of Caleb’s distress. “You’re worse than a thrice-damned tooka kit,” he complained with a sigh. “Tell you what, you keep your mouth shut and I’ll explain it all when we get home.” He extended his hand. “Deal?’

“Deal.”


	3. Adjustment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caleb learns to stop worrying and love his blaster.

Caleb liked to clean his blaster after each time he’d used it and once a week even if he hadn’t. His DL-18 blaster pistol was a lot more finicky than the rugged DC-17s favored by the clone troopers. He didn’t want it gumming up on him when he needed it in a pinch like, oh, say, now.

It was pretty clear that the job was not going well. Caleb and Kasmir stood with their hands up, held at bay by a couple of spear-wielding Gamorrean guards. “Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Kasmir said in an oily sort of voice which was fooling exactly no one, “this is all a big misunderstanding.”

The taller one gave a snort of derision and made a half-hearted jab at them with his spear. His partner stayed well back with his weapon at the ready, but this one started to advance on them in a series of excited jerks, all the while monologging away in his own language. Caleb didn’t speak Gamorrean, but he bet it was something the lines of _how dumb to you think we are_ with some added sarcasm for good measure. He laughed at his own joke and actually looked back at his partner to see if he got it.

Caleb didn’t need the Force to see where this was going. He went for his blaster just as Kasmir pulled in the joker for a brutal headbutt. The stun bolt caught his target full in the chest and dropped him like a rock. Kashmir’s victim stumbled back with a pained grunt and Caleb shot him too. 

Kasmir prodded the guard’s unconscious body with his foot. “Nice shooting, kid.”

“Thanks,” he replied with a breathless laugh. Caleb had spent hours practicing, but he’d never actually shot another sentient before. It was nothing and exactly like shooting cans, kind of like how decapitating that Kage Warrior had felt just like another saber drill. Right up until his head came off. Caleb slipped his blaster back into its holster. At least this time, everyone was leaving here alive.

Kasmir squatted down beside his guard and started rifling though his pockets. “What? We’re robbing _them_ now?” Caleb asked.

“Waste not, want not, kid,” Kasmir replied without looking up. He found what he was digging for and held the purse up with a little shake. The credits inside clinked together. “Money’s money no matter who you steal it from.”

Caleb just sighed and followed suit. The guard had a measly fifteen credits and one of those fancy data chips that displayed a holo image when you squeezed it. The image was of a pretty Gamorrean sow and a little one so small his tusks hadn’t yet come in. Seeing it, Caleb had never been more in love with his blaster. With a lightsaber, your options were pretty much limited to maim or kill, but a blaster had so much more. 

“Kid,” Kasmir called from where he was standing by the crate they’d actually come here to steal. “You gonna help me with this thing, or not?” 

“Yeah, yeah. Coming.” Caleb dropped the data chip on the guard’s chest and pocketed his credits. He was a thief now, after all, and every little bit counted.


	4. Adaptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The galaxy was a hard place, but after a few drinks it became softer, or at least a whole lot blurrier around the edges.

Caleb and Kasmir strolled into the cantina like they owned the place. They’d never been there before, but every Outer Rim bar was basically the same. There was the usual group of toughs playing sabacc in the corner and a couple of truly dedicated drunks dozing by their drinks. This early in the afternoon, the place was mostly empty. Still, Kasmir waved Caleb towards the bar to get their drinks while he claimed his preferred seat along the back wall facing the door. They were meeting a contact with intel on their latest job and he didn’t want to miss him.

Caleb slapped his credits down on the bar to draw the barkeeper’s attention away from the holodrama playing overhead. “Two ales,” he ordered like a pro.

He hadn’t always been so comfortable. The first time Kasmir had taken him to a place like this, Caleb had gawked like a rube. “How can anyone do that to themselves?” he had asked, staring in horrified awe at a Rodian passed out in a puddle of spilled alcohol and drool. At the Temple they had been taught, well, they’d been taught some conflicting things. On the one hand, they were luminous beings and their bodies meant nothing, but, on the other hand, their bodies were the sacred houses of their souls and should be treated accordingly. Either way, drinking oneself into a stupor had not been encouraged.

“Aw, kid,” Kasmir had said with a laugh. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

Well, Caleb _was_ older now, five months older in fact, and he though he finally got it. In the hour they’d been here waiting for and meeting with their contact, Caleb had not only finished his own ale, but also managed to polish off the Corellian Sunset the contact had decided was too sweet to drink. “I,” he announced, enunciating carefully, “have figured it out.”

“Figured what out?” Kasmir asked absently as he read over the flimsi with the details of their next robbery. 

Caleb sighed and laid is suddenly heavy head against the table. “Alcohol,” he said, eying Kasmir’s half-empty glass. The galaxy was a hard place, but with a few drinks in him it became softer, or at least a whole lot blurrier around the edges. Alcohol was like a wet, sticky blanket warding off all the grief, guilt, and fear he’d been living with for months. With some effort, Caleb wrenched his head off the table and snagged Kasmir’s glass. “She’s still dead,” he explained, taking a gulp, “but I can hardly feel it.”

Kasmir lowered the flimsi and pulled the ale out of Caleb’s hand. “Right. That’s enough for you.” He tucked away his notes and then came around the table to haul Caleb to his feet. “Come on, kid,” he said. His arm around the boy’s waist kept him upright and steady-ish as they stumbled towards the door. “Let’s get you home.”

“Home,” Caleb repeated with a slightly hysterical laugh. He had no home and he never would again. He was so drunk they were half-way back to the ship before he realized he was crying.


End file.
